The lamb is held by the head and feet
Lashed together
the knife is held up to god
or the gods or to the rulers of
our destiny as we choose
to define them
And the knife appeases
the god of weather
of fortune of victory of salvation
of quarterly returns
again and again
with the flame and the smoke
and the prayers to the
angry gods, promising gods.
Cut the skin off your dicks
gods who will give you milk
and honey, forever
and perpetuate your people
if you kill those who sin
against the gods
and knock down their
walls and destroy their DNA
Sometimes the lamb is a dove
or a human in feathers
nailed to a cross
Nailed by our sins we’re told
saving us from our sins we’re told
No more sacrifice ever again
we’re told on
The altar of negotiation
with the forces that rule us
runs red and the gods
Uncaring about their decisions to
Starve or crush or enrich
some over others
The last sacrifice
again and again as thousands of
hearts are held pumping alive
In the air above the slaughter house
and the soldier’s blood sacrifice for
The gods of our nation’s fear
Of becoming the sacrificial lamb
Themselves
The sacrifice that needs to be made
no more we’re told
Why did the figure hanging from the cross
in our homes and classrooms and churches
and movies have to die impaled on a tree?
He did not hate them even when they
were pounding nails through his flesh
What sins are sins to be accounted for
on the cosmic balance sheet nailed above his head
on the cross?
Is god finally happy now, appeased finally
on the altar of sacrifice with the
dove and the lamb and the soldier
Why that? Didn’t he overcome that?
Why not the enrapt little smile
and half closed eyes of the silent mind
who knows he and the sacrifice are illusions?
Still, with the smoke in the air
and the blood on the stones
We kneel and wail our entreaties
Unable to see through the veil
of the temple in our
foreheads